We've had the warmest, driest April in decades, maybe since they started keeping records.
Last Saturday, a week ago, I was sitting in a lawn chair under a beautiful blue sky in 75 degree weather watching a doubleheader.
Last Sunday we had more of the same. You could make toast on the hood of my car. The whole week was summery in fact.
Then somebody messed with the thermostat. Made it colder than Ann Coulter's lips in January. Today it was snowing at Wrigley Field. Nothing you could make a snowman with. But those were flakes falling.
So I stayed in bed. Didn't move all day. I was so ticked off at the weather. Watched kid programming, which consists of Jack Hanna and those Zaboomafoo guys -- and took a nap. I never got out of bed. Until nature called. Yoo-hoo, Mrs. Linklater. Over here.
Eventually hunger pains got the best of me and I succumbed to the siren sounds of Raisin Bran Crisp, which required getting up and getting some milk. I still went back to bed again. Did I read a book? Listen to music? Watch the last season of Sex and the City?
No. I was a vegetable. A rutabaga. A cabbage.
It was so cold I stayed in bed for 24 hours. I even set up my computer so I could use the keyboard with my head propped on the pillow while I was wrapped up in a comforter.
I'm up now. sitting on the edge of the bed writing this. It's getting close to midnight and I'm wide awake. It's still cold, too. Freezing outside. Thirty degrees. Colder than Condi Rice's brass. . .buttons during her tour of Europe.
Think I'll brush my teeth and go to bed.